Page 49 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

“I don’t think—” she started to argue, to deny that correlation equated to causation in this case, but seeing his face harden even as she spoke, she realized it was a useless exercise—and probably foolish.

Who was she to know better than him?

She didn’t know him.

They weren’t friends.

She just worked for him.

And kissed him.

But that didn’t make her anything to him or give her the right to push.

“That’s a hard way to lose a family.”

There was no pity in her words this time, just acknowledgment of the injustice of it.

To lose one’s parents in such a horrible accident, and on the eve of college—it wasn’t fair, for any young person.

His shoulders relaxed, the line of tension that had stiffened his spine curving back into a natural S.

He smiled at her and it felt like there was respect in that smile.

But had she done the right thing or simply the easy thing by not pushing back against such an obviously erroneous conclusion?

It doesn’t matter, she reminded herself.

It wasn’t her place to challenge his long-held notions.

He returned to hunting through the boxes for something for her to wear over her legs, and she pushed the question from her mind.

It wasn’t her business.

Triumphantly, he held up a pair of sweatpants in the same forest green as the sweatshirt she held.

Between the hoodie and the sweatpants, her attire was going to be a long way from professional, but putting on clothes that didn’t have dried toothpaste on them would still feel like a small miracle.

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate you going to all this trouble,” she added, gesturing to the attic and freshly opened boxes.

Closing the box, he rose to his feet with a shrug. “It’s the least I could do. I’m sorry I’m not better prepared.”

With a dry chuckle, she said, “I’d be worried if you were...”

Turning his neck from one side to the other, stretching out the kinks, he smiled. “I was a wilderness scout, you know... Always prepared.”

Miri rolled her eyes, about to say, “Of course you were,” when a box tipped over behind him with a loud clatter.

Miri winced as it landed. It sounded like whatever was in there was both dense and breakable.

The fall dislodged the tape that had held it closed, leaving one flap slightly higher than the other and through the sliver of open container, Miri could make out the green plastic lid of a storage container, but not much else.

“I could have sworn that was stacked securely,” Benjamin muttered as he crouched to lift and return it to its place, in the process opening the lid fully to take a quick scan of its contents.

Righting it, he let out a dry chuckle, and said, “Irony of ironies.”

Curious, Miri asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s a box of pictures, including, I’m sure, one of me in the station wagon. And my mom’s menorah.”

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